


When the Tyran is your Guardian

by Kynsi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Memories, Emotional Abuse, Fear, POV First Person, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 18:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10882074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kynsi/pseuds/Kynsi
Summary: Vernon had never been kind to Harry, not to the point where he had to send him to the hospital, but enough to scare and scar the boy.When your guardian does nothing but chilling you to the bone, how good could it be to grow in his family?"I still remember the feeling I would get every time I would do something wrong. This terrible fear rushing through my veins, through every cell in my body for a brief moment. All of that, because I knew it was too late… It was always too late. "





	When the Tyran is your Guardian

**Author's Note:**

> Actually, this OS dates back to 2012 (damn, five years!). I originally wrote it in French. I stumbled upon it today and translated it for someone dear to me. 
> 
> This work is centered on an abusive family, from the point of view of the child.  
> I might (I insist, might) add some chapters in the future, but this is unlikely so this work will be marked as finished for now.

I still remember the feeling I would get every time I would do something wrong. This terrible fear rushing through my veins, through every cell in my body for a brief moment. All of that, because I knew it was too late… It was always too late.

* * *

 

I was about… maybe 5, not more for sure… Uncle Vernon had forbidden me to touch any of his things, but you see, I was curious. I wanted to show Dudley what I found, given that he would keep his mouth shut in exchange. As I was in the living room, fiddling with my guardian’s precious little things, I heard him come in. Even though Dudley was spoiled and favoured, he was afraid too. I tried to quickly put everything back in its place as my uncle came in the room. He didn’t see anything, but as I tried to run away, I tripped. On nothing. On something that may have been on the floor or that wasn’t even there at all. I broke a bone. Actually, I broke two. Let’s say he wasn’t happy when my aunt had to take me to the hospital as soon as she got back from work, wincing at the view of my unnaturally twisted arm.

All of that to say how much he would scare me. How much his anger could scare the life out of me.

The rest of the story?

Well… Once, Dudley was shoving me around, picking on me again and again. I was 7, maybe 8. Vernon shouted at us because we were being too loud to his liking and punished me. Me, as always.

On my knees in a corner, hands behind my head, keeping my straight back. In silence. And he told me I should be grateful not to have a piece of wood beneath my knees. Grateful.

There was also the “whip”. It was his favourite threat. He never used it though, but it didn’t keep me from fearing it. He would sometimes grab it when he wanted me to understand I should not do anything that might annoy him.

When Dudley would hit me, I had no other choice than yelling. After all, what else was left for me to do? Hit him back? So that my uncle would kick me out or Dudley would hit me even harder? No. Yelling was enough.

But Vernon was choleric and he wasn’t really bothered by Dudley hitting me (I think he actually didn’t mind it). However, my screaming was a disturbance and that’s why I would be punished.

That means I was the one punished, because I screamed. Me, always me. I was being shouted at and, sometimes, smacked. I hated it so bad. How to be humiliated at home. Gods, it was terrible.

When I would be downstairs, feet naked, he would never fail to point it out. I could “get sick”. Well, he was more worried about the doctor’s bill than my health. So, if I was roaming around barefoot for more than three seconds, I had better watch my back. Either I would have his leather hard shoes thrown at me or he would walk on my feet and crush them with his. When he was lucky, his shoe would land right in my face, otherwise, anywhere else. I hurt sometimes. But if I would cry, I’d had to do it quietly.

The favourite threat of my cousin was “I’ll tell Dad if you don’t do…”. I couldn’t afford to make any mistake if I wanted to be spared. So, I would shut my mouth. Go on, Dudley, hit me. Keep on, I’ll just clench my teeth.

I could never counter his blackmailing.

So yeah, I can say I was afraid of my uncle and his anger outburst. He wouldn’t have killed me, nor would he have sent me to the hospital. I cannot explain it, but he would scare me more than anybody else in the world. To this day, he still scares me more than Lord Voldemort himself.

If my Boggart is a Dementor, it is no surprise. Yeah, my parents' death was horrible, but so was my childhood.

However, you cannot understand that if you didn’t have that authoritative parent, if you didn’t know their tyranny, their dictatorship.

You couldn’t understand.

You wouldn't.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I do not really know what you can get from this reading, to be honest. I have only written it with the prospect of exorcising my own childhood.
> 
> Don't hesitate to review :)
> 
> May you have a nice day and a happy life! ♥


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